It was quiet in the hospital. Too quiet.

Doctors walked along the cool, florescent-lit hallways on silent feet, speaking to each other in low voices. Nurses at their stations leaned close, their conversations all but unheard. Janitors and support staff swept and mopped, cooked and cleaned, moving noiselessly from one room to the next. Even visitors spoke in hushed whispers, as if sickness and disease were malignant demons who would cast their unwelcome attention on them if they talked too loudly.

In one room in the Intensive Care Unit, a woman lay in a sleep so deep and dreamless it was all but indistinguishable from death. An eternity seemed to last between each slow rise and fall of her chest. The monitor which registered her heartbeats paused mockingly between each harsh beep. In her dark, silent sleep, her face held an unearthly calm, as if it was beyond all trouble and care.

An unbiased observer, which Yasna was not, would say that despite scrapes and bruises, this woman was incredibly attractive. Her golden skin was clear and firm over the sculpted bones of her face, her lips red and full, her attractively tousled hair long and curling, reaching far past her shoulders. Tall for a woman, her body was sweetly curved, with deftly carved thighs, full hips, and breasts that were lush and ripe for a lover’s touch.

Yasna Marafi stood at the bedside and silently begged the woman to open her eyes. Ever since she had been brought in, three days before, she had been obsessed with her and the mysterious malady which ailed her. Her fingers itched for the touch of her skin, her lips burned for the feel of her mouth. She knew, deep in her secret heart, that with her eyes open and her face alive with wit and humor, the woman who her chart identified as Althea Carpenter would be gloriously, incredibly, incandescently beautiful. A beauty to make men and women throw themselves in her path for one smile from her lips, one touch from her hand, one word from her mouth. Despite every professional scruple, she ached to take her in her arms, to peel away the unflattering hospital gown and revel in the wonders of her body.

A voice spoke at her elbow, making her jump. “No change, Doctor Marafi?”

“None, Doctor Webb,” she replied with a sideways glance at her colleague, making her voice detached and clinical. “Heartbeat and respiration are very slow, but not life-threatening. No sign of any external trauma, except the cuts and bruises she got when she fell flat on her face on the sidewalk outside her home. The bloodwork is completely clean. No drugs, no unusual deficiencies.

“We gave her a CAT scan yesterday. The vertebrae at the base of her spine are unusually thick, but no other abnormalities.” She clenched her hands in impotent anger. “No concussion, no aneurysms, no blood clots, no signs of a stroke or a heart attack. I’ve set her up with an IV drip, so she doesn’t starve or die of thirst while we wait for her to wake up.

“So what the hell is wrong with her?” Yasna’s voice was quietly furious. “If she wasn’t lying here in front of me, I would say the tests showed an abnormally healthy woman, not one who should be in a coma. You’ve been in this business a long time, Mike,” she said. “What do you think? Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

The older doctor frowned, his fingers drumming on his thigh. He shook his head and shrugged. “The human body is strange, Yasna,” he said. “I’ve been practicing for nearly forty years, and I see things that surprise me every day. I’ve seen people who look to be on their deathbeds recover and walk out the door. And I’ve seen people who look completely healthy die from raging fevers in the blink of an eye.

“I would say to look for signs of some sort of viral or bacterial infection. See if you can find if she’s been out of the country. She might have picked up a disease we’re not familiar with. And she does have an elevated temperature,” he said, glancing at her chart.

Yasna waved a dismissive hand. “A piddling two degrees. Nothing that would explain this. And if she had an infection of some sort, you would see other signs. Clammy skin, unusually high perspiration. A high white blood cell count, or…or something,” she argued.

Dr. Webb spread his hands helplessly. “You’re probably right. But you asked me. I’m giving you my professional opinion.” He laid a sympathetic hand on her thin shoulder. “You know, Yasna, we’re not perfect. We can’t heal everybody.” He smiled ruefully. “That’s why we say we practice medicine.”

Yasna snorted. “You old fraud,” she said. “You can’t fool me. You hurt as much as I do when we lose someone.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll do some more investigating and think about it on my rounds. Maybe I’ll come up with an idea or two.

“Althea Carpenter,” she muttered as she left the room. “What’s wrong with you?”

xxxxx

Rachel Wainwright sat in her home office, her eyes focused on her computer screen. It was Sunday night, and she was preparing for court the next day. For the past several weeks, she had been the lead counsel in a class-action lawsuit brought by several dozen families whose properties along the Kankakee River had been damaged by the illegal release of toxic chemicals into the watershed. Antioch Chemical had fought them tooth and nail, but she felt she was only days away from winning a punitive damages claim of staggering proportions.

She was finishing up her notes for her closing argument when a tap sounded at her door.

“Come in,” she said, saving the file and closing her laptop.

Alex opened the door and poked his head in. “Are you busy, Mom? I can come back later. I know you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Rachel shook her head. “It’s all over but the shouting, really. I don’t think Antioch and their lawyers ever thought we’d drag them all the way to trial. They tried to settle four different times before we got to the jury selection, and then again last week, after they couldn’t break Mrs. Udall on the stand. I’m sure Kincaid thought he could bully that little old lady into recanting her previous testimony.” She snorted, her eyes glinting at the memory. “She ate his lunch when he put her back up there. By the end, she was attacking him.”

Her son sat in a chair opposite her desk. “You really love what you do, don’t you?”

She smiled. “I do. God, I do. I mean, the hours are long, and you have to deal with so much paperwork and boring details it sometimes makes you want to scream. But when you get a case like this, where you can nail a bunch of corporate sleazebags right to the wall…I love it. I really do. I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything in the wide green world.”

Alex studied his hands, his face pensive. A faint frown marred the clean lines of his forehead. “How did you know?” he asked. “That you wanted to be a lawyer?”

Rachel laughed. “Oh, God, it was all those TV shows and movies I watched when I was a kid, I think. ‘Law and Order’ came on around 1990, when I was about fifteen. And there were others. One I really liked was ‘Reasonable Doubts’. It had Marlee Matlin as a deaf lawyer. And Mark Harmon as her translator.” She grinned. “Of course, I might have been a little bit influenced by Mr. Harmon. I thought he was hot as hell. That was before I met your father, of course,” she said piously, but her eyes held a wicked twinkle.

“And there were movies, too. ‘A Few Good Men,’ and ‘Presumed Innocent.’ And I loved ‘Amistad.’ The movie about slave-trading that Spielberg directed. I wanted, just once, to give the sort of…of thundering speech you saw in those movies. Something that would be remembered.” She broke off as she saw a grin flit across her son’s face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said, pressing his lips tight.

“So why do you ask?” She paused as a thought struck her. “Is this about acting?”

“A bit,” he said. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, his bare feet crossed at the ankle. “I just wish there was some magic way you could know if what you want to do is the right thing for you to do.”

Rachel smiled fondly at her son. “There’s no way to be certain. Your father and I were lucky. We both chose fields we’ve been successful in. But I know people I went to law school with who burned out in a few years. Most of them are happy at what they do now.

“Nothing is permanent, Alex,” she said, unbending slightly. “You know I’m not a huge fan of this acting business. It’s risky. And you and I and your father are going to talk about it when he gets here on Friday.

“But nothing in life that is worth doing is without risk,” she continued. “Sure, with my connections I could help you find a safe little job somewhere. But would you respect yourself when you knew you had your job only due to whose son you were? Probably not.”

“It’s not that. I know what I want to do. I just…I don’t know if I’ll be good enough to do it. I mean, to be such a pain in the ass, to push so hard for this career, then fail? What if I turn out to be a crappy actor? Or… or not good-looking enough to get good roles?”

This is your fault, she thought guiltily. If you had spent half as much time building him up as you did undermining his confidence, he wouldn’t be so fragile right now. You better make it right.

“No son of mine,” Rachel said severely, “or you father, for that matter, will ever have to worry about being handsome enough to be an actor. So let’s not have any of that nonsense.” She laughed as Alex smiled sheepishly. “So you don’t look like Tom Hardy or Orlando Bloom or Matt Damon. So what? Not many people do. And there are hundreds of actors who make good livings without being conventionally attractive. What about Billy Bob Thornton? Or Steve Buscemi? Or John Turturro?”

And it was true, she thought proudly. Alex didn’t really take after her, with her pale skin and coal-black hair. And he didn’t much resemble his father, either. At over six feet, he was considerably taller than Joshua, for one thing. And his hair was a rich brown, rather than her husband’s sandy blond. The only things they had in common were their dark blue eyes and the noses which dominated their faces.

Josh had apologized for that, she remembered fondly. It had been a few months after the wedding. They had been lying in bed in their apartment in Champaign, watching unborn Alex kick and push against the taut skin of Rachel’s stomach.

“He’s going to get my nose, poor kid,” Josh said. “Trust me on this.” He leaned back against the pillows and rubbed his own impressive beak. “Five generations of our family. All the way back to my great-great-grandmother. We all get the Naismith Nose.”

Nearly twenty-two years later, that unexpected but dearly beloved boy-child sat in front of her. He was strong, healthy, generous, intelligent, and kind. The teenager he had been was slowly melting away, revealing the man he would become. A man with strong, even features, deep-set blue eyes, and an impressively masculine body.

“You’re handsome enough for me,” she finished softly, eying her son’s long, lanky form. In the soft light of the lamps, his skin glowed with good health, his lean body almost bursting with energy.

~And me.~

The moment stretched. Just before it could become awkward, Alex blinked and climbed to his feet.

“So what’s the deal with Dad coming up for a visit?” he asked. “I’ll be glad to see him, but after the blowout you two had at Christmas, I didn’t think you two would ever be in the same room again.”

Rachel flushed with embarrassment, ashamed of her actions five months ago. Helped on by a little too much Christmas cheer in the form of red wine, she had taken Joshua to task over what she considered a needlessly provocative art exhibit. Rachel was happy to admit that she was cheerfully oblivious when it came to religion. Her parents had never dragged her off to church on Sunday mornings, having better things, they thought, to do with their time. But there was a point where ‘pushing the envelope’ became ‘deliberately offensive.’

Joshua had flown past that point, probably giving it the finger and laughing gaily as it sailed by underneath him. Some of the pieces had been tacky, but amusing, such as the one where Santa’s elves were looking up Mrs. Claus’ dress. But others were sure to inflame even the most open mind. For instance, the one where the Virgin Mary had been giving Joseph a blow job in the stable, while a wide-eyed Baby Jesus looked on with apparent interest. Or the one where a group of naked carolers were invited into a house by a lecherously grinning man. Or the one where the Three Wise Men visited a whorehouse in Bethlehem.

She had refused to let the subject drop, complaining throughout Christmas dinner. Joshua, as he was prone to do, had simply stopped responding to her. But when the meal was over, he had put on his coat, shook Alex’s hand, kissed Sarah goodbye, and walked out the door. In a short, terse voice-mail the next day, he had told Rachel exactly what he thought about a woman who treated her ex-husband that way in front of their children.

“I love your father, Alex,” she said softly, her cheeks burning. “Even when I was angriest at him, I never stopped loving him. Luckily for me, he’s quicker to forgive than I am. I can hold onto a grudge for years. With him, he either forgives you, or never speaks to you again. I got lucky at Christmas. But I’m not going to take that sort of risk a second time.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking. It might be possible,” she said, smiling slightly, “that I am as stubborn and pig-headed as he is. Maybe it’s time I admitted I made a mistake. Maybe the problem isn’t your father’s art, but me.

“Anyway, he’ll be up on Friday. I’m not sure how long he’ll be staying. A few days, at least. Maybe, hopefully, longer.”

She stood up, joining her son. “I hope you’ll help the two of us out any way you can. If you see me starting to make an ass of myself, let me know.”

“No problem,” Alex replied. He paused, stammered, then asked, “Would you mind if I cut class to watch you make your closing argument?”

Rachel felt her heart warm at the unexpected request. “Alex, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s asked me in a long time.” She hugged him, surprised by how well she fit into his arms. The top of her head barely reached his chin these days. “It’ll probably be Tuesday afternoon. I’ll send you a text and see if I can get some people from the firm to save you a seat.” She squeezed him tightly one last time before letting him go, her cheek pressed against his firm chest, feeling the beat of his heart under his skin. As she released him, but before he could back away, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed his cheek with her lips, laughing as he made a production of wiping off the trace of moisture her mouth left behind.

Exiting the room, Alex excused himself to watch a ballgame on TV. Meanwhile, Rachel walked upstairs. She was barely halfway up when she remembered the vibrator she had bought at the adult store the previous day, when she had gone shopping for supplies in anticipation of her husband’s return home.

By the time she reached the second floor, she was nearly running.

xxxxx

Later that night, Alex lay tossing and turning in bed. Despite the late hour and the unwelcome reminder of class the next morning, the events of the past few days robbed him of any desire to go to sleep. His mother’s strangely conciliatory attitude regarding his acting career, combined with the return of his father, had his emotions at a fever pitch. Finally, he sat up, snapped on the bedside lamp and turned on his laptop. As the images came up, he shifted, one part of him aroused, the other ashamed.

Why, he thought. Why does this turn me on so much? On the screen, a lovely redhead was dressed in nothing but a leather collar, her body somehow submissive and proud at the same time. A quick forward, and another woman, kneeling on the floor, her hands outstretched in an attitude of supplication. Another, a woman looking back over her shoulder, her arms bound behind her back by silk cord from her wrists to her elbows. He lowered his boxers and brushed the sensitive skin of his cock with the tip of his finger, drawing an inward breath at the pleasurable result.

He had researched his obsession with painstaking detail, but had no more idea on how to act on it than a dog had of operating a can opener. Tentative, carefully hidden searches on the internet had led him to the discovery of some local clubs that supposedly catered to his fetish. But the thought of applying to be a member made his blood run cold.

What do you do when you believe sex is an intensely private thing, but at the same time have desires that might strip away that very privacy?

It was his need for control, he knew. His mother loved both him and Maria dearly. But she set an impossible example. Wealthy, beautiful, ferociously intelligent, a partner in one of Chicago’s most prestigious law firms, she dominated their lives with a careless power which would be frightening if she had not so obviously had their best interests at heart. Sometimes he wondered if he should go into therapy, just to see how much of his poor performance in school had been a result of him deliberately sabotaging himself. A silent rebellion against Rachel’s authority.

His only release was the theater. On stage he was different. There, he was the center of attention, controlling the scene, holding the audience by the throat as he toyed with them. With a whisper or a glance, he could make them weep or howl in rage. He smiled inwardly as he thought of the way they would act when they saw his Iago. In his hands, the villainous, backstabbing fiend would have the audience ready to storm the stage and tear him to shreds.

But as confident as he was on the stage, his sexual desires seemed shameful and twisted. The first time he had seen a picture of a nude woman, lying on her back, her wrists bound to her ankles, he had thought he would explode. He had been very careful to give no hint about his clandestine urges, either to his girlfriends or to his family. Secretly, however, he had compiled a huge digital library of photos of beautiful women in submissive poses.

God, what I wouldn’t give to meet a woman who matched me. His cock was erect, his hand rapidly stroking, a tissue ready to catch his semen.

“Oh, God help me.”

xxxxx

Two days later, Alex slipped into a bench at the Cook County Courthouse, where the case of Panzer, et al v. Antioch Chemical was being heard. His mother had sent him a text a few hours before, telling him she would be giving her closing argument that afternoon. He had immediately left class, driving up the tollway to downtown Chicago.

He nodded a hello to a young man a few years older than himself, who he vaguely remembered from a work function his mother had dragged him to in the mistaken belief that it would encourage him to try harder in college.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m Alex, Rachel’s son.” He nodded towards the front of the courtroom. “Are the closing arguments going to start soon?”

“Just as soon as the judge gets back from her lunch break,” the other man grinned. He extended a hand. “I’m Jeremy Edwards. I worked for your mom as an intern last semester. I heard she was going to give the closing argument today, so I asked my dad for the day off. I can’t wait to see this.”

“Me either,” he replied. He was about to ask another question about the procedure when the bailiff walked in and called the court to order. After the judge had taken her seat, she looked at Rachel.

“Ms. Wainwright, are you ready to give your closing argument?”

“I am, your honor.”

Alex’s mother stood and walked around her table, facing the jury. Eight women and four men looked back at her. From their conversations over the past several weeks, Alex knew Rachel had tried to get as many young women as she could on the jury. Women who would be sympathetic to her message of care for the environment and criminal neglect by Antioch Chemical.

“I had a closing statement already written,” she started, her voice so soft he had to strain forward to catch her words. “A closely-argued, logical chain, which proved the way in which a simple industrial accident cascaded into an environmental catastrophe. How the defendants did not have the proper monitoring equipment, and then, when the scope of the problem became apparent, chose to ignore it.

“It was a clear, lucid statement of the facts. But it was missing a vital element.

“So instead, let me tell you a story.

“In the old days, before the clever mind of mankind blessed us with the modern world; before indoor plumbing and central air and electricity; before internal combustion engines and printing presses and the internet, life was much simpler.

“In those days, hundreds of years ago, one of the central points of the community was the town well. It was dug with back-breaking labor, often fifteen or twenty feet deep. Women of the town would gather there every morning to haul away water for cooking and drinking, for washing and cleaning. It was one of the focuses of their lives.

“And it was crucial.” His mother’s voice, which had been calm and clear until that point, now sank low, vibrating with repressed passion. “Any attack on the well was an attack on the community as a whole, because the community could not survive without it. In times of war, invaders would foul the wells of their enemies, knowing an army could not live without water. In the fourteenth century, when the Black Death ravaged Europe, rumors spread that Jews were causing the disease by poisoning the wells of gentiles. In the mob violence which followed, thousands of Jews died.

“Which brings us to the actions of Antioch Chemical.

“By now, we know the facts, many of which the defendants have not chosen to contest. Because of negligence and incompetence, toxic chemicals were introduced into the Kankakee River. That alone would not be enough to put us where we are today. We live in an imperfect world. Accidents happen. The wise choice, the moral choice, the sane choice, would have been to notify the public, fix the problem, and make restitution.”

She halted. Even from a dozen yards away, Alex could see the anger in her face. He leaned forward in his seat, studying her technique. Was it honest emotion, or the work of a trained lawyer with over fifteen years of courtroom experience to draw on?

“Instead,” she grated slowly, her voice thick with suppressed fury, “they chose to do nothing. For months, toxic sludge spewed into the Kankakee. Arsenic, lead, cadmium…you’ve all seen the evidence and the reports.

“But rather than do the right thing, the good people of Antioch Chemical played a game. The name of the game was ‘How Long Can We Get Away With This?’ The issue was shunted from one department to the next. They wouldn’t lift a finger until they had orders, signed in triplicate, lost, found, subjected to management review, lost again, and buried in seven levels of hellish bureaucracy which makes you wish for the Second Coming to arrive to clean out the mess.” She took a deep breath. “And all of this, all of it, for the sole purpose of avoiding paying for the clean-up. If I might be permitted to quote again from the e-mail which was sent from the vice-president of finance to the vice-president of engineering-”

“Objection!” shouted an attorney from the defense side. “Repetitious.”

“Overruled,” the judge said calmly. “Control yourself, Mr. Kincaid. You know the rules about interrupting a closing statement.”

“Thank you, your honor,” Rachel said with a polite nod. Alex bit his lip to keep from laughing. God, she was playing the entire room like an instrument.

“As I was saying before I was interrupted,” she continued calmly, “here is the quote from the e-mail to engineering. ‘We would be financially negligent if we poured resources into a project from which we will receive no income. This will have an adverse effect on our quarterly and yearly profitability. We advise against this proposal.'” Her fist clenched as she crumpled the piece of paper into a lopsided wad and dropped it contemptuously to the floor.

“And that is where the moral vacuum of Antioch Chemical becomes apparent. Money, money, money. Nothing but money was important. Let the world drown in poison, let fish choke to death on toxic waste, let the very water we need for life be hostile to our touch as long as the profits roll in. That is the same type of thinking which let thousands of people in Flint be poisoned by lead in their water, because no one in the entire state of Michigan had the courage to stand up and say ‘enough’.”

His mother’s voice dropped. “The four horsemen of the apocalypse were once called Pestilence, War, Famine and Death. I now rename them. They are Pollution, Poison, Cowardice, and Greed.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “The Kankakee will never be regarded as one of the foremost rivers of this country. It has none of the majesty and grandeur of the Mississippi. None of the beauty of the Hudson. It does not roam for over a thousand miles like the broad Missouri, or carve out mighty canyons like the Colorado.

“What it is, instead, is ours.” Rachel’s voice was a steely blade in the silent courtroom. “It belongs to the people of Illinois. And these cold, calculating men and women took it away from us. It will be years, perhaps decades, until the Kankakee is restored to its rightful place. Our children’s children may, may see it as it should be. If they are lucky. For us, the future is far grimmer.

“In a few minutes,” she continued, “you will hear another story. It is a sad, tragic story about accidents and mistakes, about greedy lawyers and opportunistic landowners. About how no one is really responsible. About how the poor corporate officers of Antioch Chemical are the true victims here. About how this case is no more than a money-grab by a few dozen disaffected landowners and their lackeys.”

Her lips curled in a contemptuous sneer. “Don’t you believe it. It may be true that money does not cure all ills. But here and now you have a chance to send a message. To all of those who would defile our one and only planet. Our truest legacy to our children. And that message is no more. No longer will we allow you to poison us. We are not content to live with filthy water, dirty air, putrid food. We will not stand idly by as dead fish wash up on the shores of the Kankakee at Wilmington. We will not sit voiceless as trees rot and fall into the water, dead years before their time. They fouled our well.”

Her voice sank into a whisper, echoing through the silent room.

“No more.”

xxxxx

After the defense consul’s stammering, ineffective closing statement, the judge sent the jury to their deliberations. Rachel packed up her notes and her laptop, readying herself for a long wait. It would be days, maybe longer, before the jury came back with a verdict. She would spend her time shuttling back and forth between the courtroom and her office, preparing for some of the other cases she was assisting with.

Two familiar forms caught her eye, and she smiled. “Hey, guys,” she said, walking to the bar which separated the audience from the actual courtroom. “So, Jeremy,” she said, looking at her former intern. “What did you think?”

He shook his head. “You killed that company today. Even if they survive the verdict, no one will forget what you said.” He grinned. “But that’s just what you intended, isn’t it?”

“More or less,” she agreed. She eyed her son, who was looking at her with an expression which approached awe. “What’s the matter, honey? Disappointed in your mom?”

He shook his head, his expression disbelieving. “And you say you don’t understand actors,” he said quietly. “God. You were an actress. The entire room was your stage. I wish I had a movie camera in here. You had every eye in the room on you. They didn’t dare look away.

“You didn’t thunder, Mom. You didn’t need to.”

“Thanks, honey.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He suffered the gesture, rolling his eyes. “Listen, no one knows how long this is going to take. So you might as well go on home. I’ll see you tonight. As for you,” she said, eying her former intern. “I’ll see you at the cookout on Sunday, right?”

“I suppose so,” Jeremy replied. “I don’t want to think about what you’ll say about me if I dare blow it off!”

xxxxx

The next day was warm and cloudless. The sun shone brightly in a sky of robins-egg blue, and a soft breeze carried the smell of growing things. May was a beautiful time in northern Illinois. The trees were in full bloom, the grass green and lush, and the choking humidity of July and August had not yet descended on the region.

Maria Ochoa parked in the Wainwright’s driveway around one o’clock and looked at the house covetously through the cracked windshield of her car. Someday, she swore. Someday I will live in a house like this. I will not always be the orphan girl from Honduras, cleaning up after others. I will find a good man and he will provide for me. And I will take care of him and have his babies.

But for today, Maria, I think you must clean. With a sigh, she opened the trunk of her car and pulled out the open-lidded case which held her cleaning supplies. Rags and polish for the furniture. Various cleaners for the counter-tops and the tile in the bathrooms. Paper towels and scrub pads and heavy rubber gloves to protect her hands from the harsh solvents. Luckily, the Wainwrights provided the larger pieces of cleaning equipment, such as the vacuum, so she did not have to drive around in the big van today.

She opened the front door with the key and stepped into the dim foyer. To her eyes, the house had seemed unbelievably luxurious the first time she had seen it, nearly three years ago. But by now, she was used to the casual wealth which the Wainwrights had access to.

Sweep and mop the downstairs first, she thought, setting down her cleaning case in the kitchen. And start the laundry. Then I will vacuum and clean the bathrooms. Then upstairs. Then the basement. She opened the hall closet and pulled out a broom, dustpan, mop, and bucket. In a few moments, she was sweeping the hard stone flags of the kitchen floor, her body repeating the motions it had made thousands of times, her mind elsewhere. The dark gray of her uniform clung to her body, but her calves were bare, and the air in the house was comfortably cool.

She had finished the kitchen and was sweeping the polished hardwood floor of the dining room when she heard a soft voice behind her.

“Hello, Maria.”

She turned quickly, startled. Rachel Wainwright stood a few steps away, holding a glass of water.

“Senora Wainwright! I’m sorry. I did not know you were at home.”

“And why should you?” the older woman smiled. “It’s easy to get lost in this barn of ours. Heck, sometimes the only way I have of knowing if the kids are here is if their cars are in the garage.”

Maria smiled shyly. She had not spoken to Rachel much. She was almost always at work when Maria was cleaning her beautiful house. “Are you taking a day off?” she asked. “Or are you sick?”

Indeed, Rachel did look a bit rumpled. Her clothes, while well-fitting and fashionable as always, were slightly disheveled, as if she had been laying down for a nap while she was fully-clothed. And her face was flushed, red spots of color showing brightly against the ivory of her cheeks, the skin at her temples slightly damp. Maria’s hands, driven by a compulsion towards order which was instinctive, itched to straighten her clothes. A woman so powerful and beautiful should not look like she had just rolled out of bed.

Unless she had just rolled out of bed, her mind whispered. She tried to ignore the sinful voice of the devil, sending up a quick prayer to the Holy Mother.

You can tempt me, Satan, she said. But I will not submit.

Rachel smiled in response to her question. “No, I’m waiting for the jury to come in on the case I’m working on. I just finished up the closing argument yesterday. Now it’s in the hands of twelve men and women. Who knows which way they will decide? I couldn’t handle going to the office today. I’m about ready to jump out of my own skin.”

She took a drink of water and looked at Maria consideringly. She dropped her eyes, uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze. When Rachel spoke again, her voice was softer.

“Tell me, Maria. How long have you been cleaning my house for me?”

“Over two years, senora.” A faint panic tickled the edge of her mind. “Are you happy with the work I do?”

“Of course I am,” Rachel replied, her face open and friendly. “You take better care of the place than the kids and I ever could. I am not the domestic type,” she said with a wink that made Maria giggle. “And the kids…well, Sarah is perfectly happy to deal with anything that has to do with cooking, but if you put a mop in her hands, I have no idea what she would do. And Alex could live happily in one room for the rest of his life, as long as he had his movies and books.

“But I was thinking,” she said, stepping closer to Maria, “of a more…permanent…arrangement. How much do you earn per hour right now?”

When Maria told her, she blinked angrily. “That’s it? For all the work you do? I pay your employer three times that. Easily.”

“Please, senora,” Maria said, almost stumbling over the words in her haste. “Don’t complain to my boss. I need this job.”

“My name,” said the woman in front of her, whose clothes cost more than Maria made in a week, “is Rachel. I would be pleased if you used it. I am not some bitter old lady who needs to be reassured about how important she is.

“My husband is coming home in a few days,” she said. Maria blinked at the sudden change of subject. “He’s a good man, but no better than I am when it comes to housework. In fact,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “he may be worse. He’s an artist, and has a terrible habit of leaving his tools and brushes scattered all over.

“So I am wondering,” she said, “if you might want to work for my family full-time. You would do what you already do, but we would be the only household you work for. You would have to quit your existing job, of course, but I can certainly improve on your salary. Heck, I would probably save money, considering how badly your boss is shafting the both of us. In addition to taking care of the house, you would also be responsible for my husband’s workshop, if he chooses to move back here. And sooner or later Sarah is going to move out. She does a lot of the cooking for us now, so we are going to need someone to prepare meals.”

“I can cook!” Maria said eagerly. Her head spun. This was a dream come true! “I love making good food! Although,” she said, her voice faltering slightly, “my meals may be different than what americanos are used to.”

Rachel laughed. “Sarah is always trying out new recipes on Alex and myself,” she said, taking Maria’s hand. Her skin was dry and feverishly warm, the fingers seeming to tremble slightly. “I think we can live with what you make for us. Although if you ask, you might find that Sarah is willing to teach you some of the recipes we’re used to. And it would only be one meal a day, most times. We can take care of our own breakfast and lunch.

“What else?” she continued. “Oh. Right. If you like, you can move in, as well. Rent-free. There is a small apartment over the garage which we’ve never used. It has its own kitchen and bathroom, and is hooked up to all our utilities, so you can avoid that expense. It’s unfurnished, but we’ll help you move your things up there if you like. It has its own entrance as well, so you would have complete privacy. You wouldn’t have to worry about us barging in when you wanted to be alone.”

Maria’s mind was a blank. “Why do you do this for me?” Her accent deepened as her emotions threatened to take hold of her. She felt close to weeping. She had been living hand-to-mouth ever since she had graduated from her crumbling high school on the south side of Chicago. For years she had cleaned the houses of the wealthy, getting a tantalizing glimpse of how they lived before being forced to exit, again and again.

“Why?” Rachel answered. “Because I can.” Her hand gripped Maria’s. “Too many people spend their time pushing others down. I want to lift others up.

“However,” she said, “there are a few conditions we must set.”

“Anything!” Maria said eagerly.

The black-haired woman smiled, laying a finger on her lips. “Be careful what you say. I might hold you to it.” The look on her face made Maria’s stomach do a slow flip. She set her glass down on the table and moved closer. The click of the glass on wood was loud in the sudden silence.

“First of all,” she said, “We simply must do something about this uniform. It is very unflattering for a woman with a body as lovely as yours.” She casually reached up and started to unbutton Maria’s thick, heavy blouse. Her eyes were wide and avid, the pupils dilated.

Maria’s breath came fast and deep. She knew she should pull away. Should run out the door and drive off. Should report this to her boss and to the police. But she did nothing. She stood, trembling and helpless, like a rabbit under the gaze of a hawk.

In moments her uniform was unbuttoned to the waist. Rachel pushed it off her shoulders, letting the garment fall loose to drape around her middle. Her cheeks burning, she tried to cover her body with her arms, but failed utterly.

“Oh, stop it,” Rachel said gently. “Why do you try to hide your beautiful body? I know women in my office who would kill for one like yours.” She walked around Maria slowly, her hand trailing along the skin of her belly, her back. Her skin was strangely hot as she caressed the length of her spine.

“Lovely,” she said, satisfied, as she came around to her front again. “But this,” she continued, letting her hand graze the plain white cotton of Maria’s bra. “It won’t do. When you come to work for me, I want something more.” As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she reached behind Maria and unclasped her bra. Her breasts sprang loose, wantonly exposed to her view.

“Oh,” Rachel sighed. “Yes, that is so much better. Can you do this for me, Maria? Can you choose to not hide your beauty, but flaunt it? Show me and my family the blessings which have been bestowed upon you?

“Not that you should walk around topless every day,” she said, with a glint of humor. “I don’t want to expose my family to that much temptation. I am trying to reconcile with Josh, after all. I can’t have him looking at you when he should be looking at me. Just wear something attractive. Something which will remind us of the beauty to be found in the world.” Her voice deepened. “Something which will make us desire you, as a woman should be desired.”

Run away! The voice of Father Martinez roared in her mind. Filthy strumpet! Will you defy your Lord this way by selling your soul for money and comfort?

~Stay.~ A second voice overrode the priest’s ranting. It was deep, rich, and heady, like dark chocolate and sin. ~Stay and learn what true happiness is like. Stay and learn the power and glory of your body.~

Desire opened like a pit in Maria’s belly. She trembled softly, wondering whether her deepest, most hidden fantasies were about to come true.

“You’re beautiful, too,” she said softly. She stood bravely, meeting Rachel’s eyes. “I would never try to take your novio away from you. He should be in your bed. But I would like to be there, too.”

An unnameable emotion crossed over Rachel’s pale face. In an instant, she had closed the distance between them, her hands on Maria’s hips, her head turning sideways, her mouth descending, opening like a flower, her white teeth gleaming in the dim light.

When their lips touched, it was like lightning. Maria gave a groan which was half-desire, half-anguish, and she lifted her hands to run them through Rachel’s fine, silky hair. She yearned towards her, her breasts aching, her nipples contracting into hard, tight buds on her breasts. They scraped on the silk of Rachel’s blouse and she shook with animalistic pleasure.

In the silence, broken only by the panting sound of their breath, the ring of the phone was jarringly loud. Pulling away from Maria, Rachel let loose with a stream of curses which made her blush. She fished her phone out of her slacks and answered it, one arm still curled possessively around Maria’s waist. Trembling at her audacity, Maria ran inquisitive fingers up her sides, her hands straying dangerously close to the curves of her breasts.

“All right,” Rachel sighed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She tapped a button on the phone and the screen went dark. “I have to go,” she said regretfully. Her eyes were wide, and a trace of fear could be seen on her face. “The jury is back. It’s too soon,” she continued softly. “I expected them to take several days to reach a verdict. Maybe more.”

She laid a hand on Maria’s cheek, smiling as she leaned into the touch. Her thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. “When can you start?” she asked, as if the past few moments had not occurred and they were still simply discussing Maria’s employment. “Do you need to give notice to your boss?”

“He has fired a pregnant woman and given her no severance pay,” Maria replied bitterly. “I owe him nothing. When do you want me to start?” She looked at Rachel, her heart singing in her chest. “I very much look forward to working for you,” she said demurely, casting her eyes down. She looked up through her lashes, enjoying the feeling of power over Rachel as her breath caught.

Yes, she thought. There is power in submitting to another. Especially when the other desires you so badly.

~Yes, child,~ spoke the voice in her head. ~You begin to learn.~

Rachel tapped her foot. “How about Tuesday? You can work through the end of the week at your current job, and Monday’s a holiday. See me when you come in on Friday. If I’m not here, I’ll make sure either Alex or Sara are. Have you decided whether you want to move into the garage apartment?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Of course, I would need to see it first.”

“Good idea,” Rachel said approvingly. “I don’t want you to buy a pig in a poke. Never mind,” she said in answer to Maria’s blank look. “I’ll have Alex or Sarah show you around. And they can give you an advance on your salary in case you need to rent a truck to move your things in. If you decide you don’t like the apartment, that’s fine. The job offer still stands.

“One thing, however, is non-negotiable,” she said, her voice throbbing with unslaked lust. She kissed Maria again, hot and fierce, her hands gripping the firm curves of her rear through the rumpled fabric of her uniform. “Someday soon, I am going to kiss your beautiful breasts and finger your hot pussy until you beg me to make you come. And you will do the same for me.”

Maria fell to her knees. Her belly was hot with want, her panties soaked with her fluid. “Yes, Mistress. I will do as you command.” Her eyes, when they looked up, were worshipful.

Her mistress gazed down at her, her mouth trembling. “Damn it. I have to go.” She turned and walked quickly away. In moments, Maria heard the sound of the garage door opening, and the muted growl as Rachel’s Mercedes drove away.

She knelt on the floor and wept with happiness.

xxxxx

Weaving among other cars as she barreled up the expressway, Rachel was torn in an agony of shame and desire. She clenched her hands tight on the wheel, trying to ignore the urgent ache in her groin, the sheen of sweat that slicked her skin.

What is happening to me? She wriggled against the leather upholstery, trying to scratch the maddening itch at the base of her spine. I’ve never been turned on by a woman before in my life! And now I’m damn near raping my maid in the middle of my dining room! Is this some sort of mid-life crisis no one told me about? I know women are supposed to hit their sexual peak around my age. Does their sexual preference change as well?

She thought about Josh, due to arrive home in three days. To her vast relief, she found her desire for her ex-husband was undiminished. In fact, it seemed to have increased. It was all she could do to not pick up the phone and beg him to come home to give her the fucking she craved.

No, not craved. Needed. Needed as badly as a she needed air or water. She cast her memory back to that time, only a few minutes ago, when Maria’s warm brown breasts had been within her reach. How would they feel in her hands? What would her nipple taste like when she laved it with her tongue?

“Oh, God,” she moaned. Her entire body seemed to want to do nothing but prepare itself for sex. It was the voice in her head. The one that had been growing louder and louder for the past week. Sometimes it simply seemed to be her own thoughts, but deeper and darker than any she had ever had before. At other times, it seemed to be an entirely different personality, one bent on pursuing pleasure to the detriment of all else. As she seduced Maria, it had been talking to her, goading her, until the two of them had been only moments away from taking each other in Rachel’s own dining room.

And still the desire pushed her. She slipped a hand inside her blouse, pushed down a bra-cup, and gently mauled her tit, her fingers pinching her tight nipple. Wild fantasies flared through her mind. Of hauling one of the lawyers in the office into an unattended janitorial closet for a few frenzied minutes of passionate sex. Her fingers kneaded and prodded, pulling her engorged nipple away from its breast, until she finally shuddered in a shameful, empty climax.

xxxxx

Riding in Rachel’s body, Althea savored her sexual pleasure, feeding from her orgasm. She regretted the feelings of confusion in her host’s mind, even as she reveled in the strength she brought her. No longer on the edge of dissolution, she was growing stronger every day. ~Soon I will be strong enough to talk to her. To explain.~

She had been wrong, she decided. When she first entered Rachel, she had thought her all but sexless, a joyless automaton whose passions had been so chained that it would take weeks or months before Althea could even think about reclaiming her body. Instead, Rachel reminded Althea of nothing more than a dormant volcano, a woman whose desires had not been extinguished, but merely held in abeyance until given the proper nudge. And just as a volcano could be brought back to life by the smallest shift of a tectonic plate, Rachel’s desires were now in full force and desperate for release.

~But Maria,~ she thought. ~That was a welcome surprise.~ She had thought to use Rachel to seduce Maria, since tapping into their pleasure would make her all the stronger. And the scattered hints about Maria she had gathered from Rachel had led her to believe that the attractive young woman would welcome Rachel’s touch. She had extended her power to the utmost, whispering in Maria’s mind. But when Rachel had kissed her sexy maid, Althea had been stunned by the depth of her sensuality and her enthusiastic response. She had been in such a state of shock she had actually been glad Rachel had been summoned back to court, as it gave her an opportunity to think and plan.

~A submissive. That is something unexpected.~ Althea was no stranger to the darker side of sex. And being what she was, an immortal of inhuman power, submissives were drawn to her. When she was in her true form, men, and some women as well, sought to lay themselves at her feet, needing a mistress to command them. But while she held that anything which was done between consenting adults was permissible, the history of Althea and her kin made her wary of the sort of unthinking worship some people seemed to think she desired.

Happily, Maria showed no signs of that sort of nonsense. While the need to submit was bone-deep in her, it was tethered to an immense personal strength and moral courage which was the equal to anyone she had ever known. Finding a Master or Mistress would give her intense sexual gratification, especially if that Mistress included bed-play in the relationship. But anyone who sought to abuse Maria’s trust would find that which yielded was not necessarily weak.

~Yes. She will do nicely.~ She had been fortunate. Very fortunate, indeed. When Peter, the deluded young man who sought to use her for his own twisted desires had died, she might have been pulled into death along with him. Even when she escaped his dying body, it was only the merest chance which decreed her new host was a lovely woman, rather than a child or a dried-up old stick of a man. And Rachel’s family and circle of acquaintances were like a pile of oil-soaked rags, needing only the smallest spark to set the flames of passion alight. Her days-long sojourn through Rachel’s mind had showed her the depth of feeling she still had for her ex-husband Joshua. Friends and lovers for over twenty years, the two had become estranged due to mule-like stubbornness. But the love was still there, like the coals of a campfire, needing only a breath to be rekindled.

Then there were the children, Alex and Sarah. Good-looking, intelligent, and passionate about their own lives, they had been smothered by Rachel, almost stunted by her good intentions. Her belief that she knew what was best for them had put them on the edge of open rebellion. But Althea’s whispered hints and Rachel’s own innate decency had kept them from that fate. Now Althea searched Rachel’s mind, wondering how she could use them for her own purpose. They had both inherited Rachel’s lusty capacity for love-making. But Althea didn’t want to simply use and discard them. With help, she thought she could guide them towards the life-long happiness which all humans longed for, but few achieved.

She gave a mental snort. ~It’s a little late in the day to try to win salvation through good deeds, don’t you think? Or are you actually turning into a romantic in your old age?~

The life of a succubus was by turns both richly rewarding and irretrievably bleak. Rewarding, because of the pleasure and power to be be gained through sex. And humans were an inexhaustible supply. Also, she and her kin were the last defense of the Almighty against the hosts of Hell, and dispatching demon-spawn into the Abyss never ceased to be a cause for joy.

Yet, despite that, she and her kind had slowly dwindled through the ages, until there were barely a handful left. Many of her kin, worn down by the unending millennia, had taken their own lives in despair, or had been killed in their long war against Hell. The lives of humans, brief as mayflies, burned and died like sparks from a fire on a winter’s night. The death of every lover stole a piece of her heart, until she had armed and armored herself against caring. She had made her way through the world with a smile on her lips and a lock on her soul.

But somehow, like a golden dagger, Rachel and her family had pierced her heart. She found herself opening to them. They were not merely bodies to be used for the power they could give her, but people to be cared for and nurtured. Maybe, even, loved?

~We’ll see,~ Althea thought, guiding Rachel’s fingers up her thigh, taking another bite of pleasure. ~I should be able to talk to her soon.~

~We’ll see.~

xxxxx

Rachel took a few moments for herself in the women’s restroom in the courthouse, trying to compose herself. With a handful of paper towels, she gently tried to clean the puffy, engorged lips of her sex, but only succeeded in arousing herself further. It was all she could do to not pull off her black pencil-skirt and panties and stuff her hand up her horny channel until she found release again. Her musk rose up around her like a cloud, and her eyes in the mirror, when she washed her hands, looked wild and unstrung, more like an animal than a woman.

She finally managed to calm down and joined her team in the courtroom. Luckily, the judge had not yet arrived. She sat down at her place, leaning close to Donald Mertz, who had been her second-in-command throughout the long process of the trial.

“What do you think, Donny?”

“It’s too soon,” he replied. He was an older man, nearly sixty, but his eyes were shrewd. He would never make partner, but he had been an invaluable ally for the last several months. His encyclopedic knowledge of environmental law was greater than Rachel’s own. He had been the brains behind their case, while Rachel, with her superior courtroom presence, had been the voice and spirit. “Barely a day? There’s no way they should have reached a decision so quickly.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said worriedly. She lowered her voice. “Do you think Antioch paid them off?”

Donny glanced over at the opposing counsel and shook his head. “No way. Look at them. They’re more nervous than we are.”

Indeed, the well-fed, fatuous faces across the room were pale with strain. Rachel caught the eye of the president and owner of the company, a graying, dignified man in his sixties, and nodded politely. After a startled moment, he returned the gesture.

She was just about to open her mouth to ask another question when the door from the judge’s chambers opened. Judge McKittrick gaveled the court to order and spoke to the jury.

“Madam Forewoman, has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, your honor,” replied the forewoman, rising to her feet. A woman in her late thirties, mother of three, her selection as the head of the jury had been a welcome sign to Rachel that they were taking their responsibilities seriously.

“And what is the verdict?”

“In the question of material damages, we find for the plaintiffs, and assess the defendants a penalty of eleven million, eight hundred thousand dollars.”

Rachel bowed her head and fought to keep a victorious grin from stretching her lips. It was the amount they had asked for, down to the last penny. The money, assuming they would ever be able to collect it, would go to the thirty-seven families who had signed on to the lawsuit, as compensation for the damage Antioch had done to their property.

“And for the punitive damages?”

The forewoman raised her head from the paper she was reading from. Her eyes were cold as she looked at the defense. Below the table, Rachel gripped Donny’s hand tightly.

“In the question of punitive damages, we also find for the plaintiffs, and assess the defendants a penalty of one hundred and twenty million dollars.”

The courtroom seemed to gasp. Then, wild cheers broke loose, as those members of the property-owners who had been close enough to arrive in time for the verdict let loose with their joy. Cameras from the press flashed brightly, sending strobes of light across Rachel’s vision. She blinked, stunned by the verdict. She had not dared dream of such an outcome.

Neither, it seemed, had the executives at Antioch. They sat in a row, stiff and colorless as mannequins. Slowly, the president leaned forward, the palms of his hands pressed into his eye sockets. He looked, Rachel thought, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

After repeated bangs of her gavel, Judge McKittrick was finally able to bring the court to order. She dismissed the jury and closed the case. Rachel sat for a moment, letting the babble wash over her.

“One hundred twenty million,” Donny was saying wonderingly. He shook his head. “And a third of that goes to the firm. What do you think our bonuses will be, Rachel? I might be able to retire a couple of years early. Or me and Beth might want to buy that cabin up in Door County. Or-”

Rachel cut him off with a raised hand. “Didn’t your mom ever give you a warning about counting chickens?” she asked. “They haven’t hatched yet. And if these guys don’t appeal I’ll…”

“Speaking of which,” Donny muttered as the lead counsel for Antioch approached their table.

“Counselors,” he said politely. But by the twist of his mouth, he might have been tasting acid.

~This is an enemy. Be careful.~ She blinked, having the sense of something in her mind pulling away, trying to hide from the man in front of her.

“Mr. Kincaid,” she replied, matching his tone. She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to continue.

“I’d like to set up a meeting with you to discuss the appeal,” he said with a faint sneer. “The punitive damages are precisely that; more punitive than the events warrant. Antioch, will, of course, take this to the Illinois appellate court.”

“Of course you will,” she said, her voice tinged with disgust. “Anything that allows you to bill more hours, right? Oh, to hell with it,” she finished. “Fine. I should have known better than to think you and Antioch would know when you were beaten. Bring your clients over to our offices Friday morning. Make it around ten o’clock. I’ll have a few representatives from our side on hand. You can make your pitch for a settlement. Again.”

xxxxx

Two days later, Josh Sunderman arrived home in a drizzling rain. He pulled into the long driveway, careful to keep the trailer hitched to the back of his truck from straying off the black asphalt and onto the grass of the lawn.

He turned off the engine and sat for a long moment in the cab, frowning at the rusty Toyota which shared the driveway with his Ford. He had deep misgivings about this trip. Rachel had hurt him too badly in the past for him to think that everything was going to be unicorns and rainbows when he returned. His former wife had a deep conservative streak which made her reactions to his work problematic. Despite her respect for how he earned a living, she simply did not understand what drove an artist. The need to push boundaries. To help people see the truth of their inner selves.

Well, you’re here, he sighed to himself. Unless you want to turn around and drive back down to Peru, you’re stuck here, at least until after Memorial Day. Best get to work.

He opened the front door and hung his leather jacket on the rack in the foyer. “Hello?” he called. “Anyone home?” Rachel, he knew from a conversation earlier in the morning, would be downtown at the firm most of the day. But he had thought at least one of the kids would be home.

“Hello?” came an unfamiliar voice from the living room. He heard someone walking towards him, the tap of shoes on the hardwood floor coming rapidly closer.

When the figure came into view, his eyebrows rose, startled. Before him was a Hispanic woman of startling beauty, holding a can of furniture polish in one hand. Perhaps twenty-five years old, she was dressed in a faded pair of hip-hugging blue jeans and a cut-off shirt which showed a generous amount of her flat brown stomach. Large, firm breasts pressed into the cloth of her shirt, and her eyes were dark and lustrous. Coarse black hair was woven into a thick braid which reached nearly to her waist.

“Who are you?” he asked, then paused, startled by how rude the words sounded. He continued, somewhat more politely. “And what are you doing here?”

“I am Maria,” she said in a lovely, lilting accent. “I clean for Senora Wainwright.” Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “Who are you?”

“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry. Rachel told me she had a maid helping her out these days. I just didn’t expect you to look like…well, like you do,” he finished lamely, gesturing at her outfit. He cleared his throat and offered his hand. “I’m Joshua Sunderman. Rachel and I used to be married. I’m here for the weekend to visit and see the kids.”

“Ah, Senor Sunderman! I should have remembered,” she said, taking his hand firmly. “The mistress said you would be here today. But I forgot. She is so kind, your novia. On Wednesday she asked me to work for your family full time. And she offered me the apartment over the garage to live in. Sarah and I looked at it earlier today, and I hope to move in tomorrow.” She smiled happily.

He blinked, nonplussed. “Well…good,” he said slowly. “I have to say, you’re dressed different than I thought a maid would be. Not,” he continued with a smile, “that I have known many maids. Back before Rachel and I separated we did the housework ourselves.”

“Yes, I know,” Maria sniffed. “I started right after you and the Senora were divorced. Such a mess this house was! I have to work for a week to put it in order!

“But Rachel asked me to dress this way. She said she did not like my old uniform. Today is my last day with my old company. So I say to myself, what is the worst that can happen? They can fire me? Hah! I quit at five o’clock. So I dress to please myself and Rachel.”

Josh grinned. The young woman’s good humor was infectious, and he was always ready to admire a person who wasn’t afraid to stick a finger in the eye of authority. “That’s great. And the clothes look good on you,” he said admiringly.

“Thank you,” the young woman said. “I hope you and the Senora are able to get back together. She is a wonderful woman who deserves to be happy. She needs a man in her bed,” she said, her words alarmingly direct. “I had seen pictures of you. But now I see you face-to-face, I know you will make her happy. So handsome, you are,” she finished, her eyes running up and down his body admiringly.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, his face heating. “Do you know where Sarah and Alex are?” he said, hoping to change the subject. The last thing he needed was for a lovely young woman to be flirting with him, or worse, when Rachel got home. Or the kids. He thought of Sarah seeing him with Maria, and he went cold.

“Alex is at school. I think he said he would be back around five o’clock,” Maria replied. “Sarah went out with some friends to the mall. I have no idea when she will return.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m going to go out to my workshop and move some of my supplies back there from the truck. Can you tell the kids where I am when they get back?”

“Of course,” she said with a smile. “And I will come out there soon, myself. Rachel asked me to take care of the cleaning of your shop. So I would have you tell me what is safe to touch, and what you want me to leave alone.”

“Sound good.” He nodded his head to her politely. “I’ll see you later.”

xxxxx

Happily, no one had touched his workshop. The high-ceilinged, brightly-lit building was exactly as he had left it three years ago. Simply but solidly built, it had a polished hardwood floor and wooden walls covered with some of his earliest pieces. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed sunlight to pour in from the west and south, where the property meandered back towards the forest preserve and the DuPage River.

He puttered around for a few hours, putting his supplies and tools in order, and moving some of his current projects from the trailer to the long bench which spanned the north wall. He also swept the floor with a bedraggled broom he found in the closet. Despite her obvious competence, he was not sure whether he wanted Maria in his private sanctum.

He was just thinking about whether or not to try to get some work done on his project, or if it was time to go find some lunch when the door opened and he heard an excited voice squeal, “Daddy!”

He turned around just in time to catch his daughter as she leaped into his arms. Sarah’s face was shining as she hugged him tight.

“No hugs!” he exclaimed, cradling her body as her legs wrapped around him. “No hugs from girls. Girls are gross!”

Sarah laughed, and instead dotted his face with kisses.

“Ack! Ew! Urgh!” he said, “No kisses! No kisses!” He spun and relaxed his arms, allowing Sarah to slide to the floor. “God, look at you,” he said. “You’re almost as tall as me. Aren’t you going to stop growing soon?”

“I think I have,” his daughter replied with a smile. She twirled around. “See?”

“Well, good,” he said, shaking his head in mock-dismay. “It’s not fair for a man to have a daughter taller than he is. I don’t know where you and your brother get it from. No one on my side of the family has ever topped six feet. You’re only a few inches shy of that, and Alex is well over.”

“Grandpa Wainwright was pretty big before he died.”

“Yeah, but your mom’s tiny.” He smiled down at his youngest child. Sarah’s dark brown hair was a match for her brother’s. Tall and rangy, she seemed to vibrate with healthy young energy. And somehow, despite her mania for cooking, she never seemed to gain a pound of fat. He sighed for a moment, regretful that his differences with Rachel had caused him to miss much of the last three years of his daughter’s life. She wasn’t a child any longer. Or even an adolescent. Rather, she was an attractive young woman, who, if he had his way, would soon be able to pursue the culinary career she was so obviously suited to.

“Mm hmm,” she said. “So how long are you going to be here? Are you going to stay? Please tell me you are,” she begged, her eyes filled with low cunning.

“Trying to wrap your old man around your finger again, huh? I don’t know, Sarah,” he sighed, answering her question. “Sometimes things break so badly it’s best not to try to fix them. I’m willing to give it another chance. And so is Rachel. But this is the last time. I’m not going to yo-yo between here and Peru every time your mom gets to feeling lonely.”

“Why, Daddy,” his daughter exclaimed, her eyes wide and innocent. “You don’t want to be the one on the end of the line when Mom makes a booty call?”

He snorted, smiling. “Your mother is a terrific person, Pumpkin,” he said, using his old nickname for her. “But I’m not going to settle for half a loaf. Either we are together, or we aren’t. This half-assed relationship we’re in isn’t helping either of us.”

Sarah nodded, then wandered over to the worktable. “These are new, aren’t they?” she asked. “They weren’t here the last time I was in here.”

“You came in here?” Josh asked, somewhat surprised.

Sarah nodded, her eyes distant. “Sometimes. When I was feeling sad. Or lonely. The smell of this place always reminded me of you. The paint and wood and turpentine. I’d sneak in and sit in the easy chair over there and just think. It made me feel like you were here with me, even though you weren’t.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “It isn’t your fault. Not all of it, at least. I will say, though,” she said with a steely glint in her eye, “it would have been better if you and Mom had actually talked about your issues, rather than her ranting and you just sitting there like a lump. Or walking away.

“Yes, I know, you don’t like arguments. Grandma and Grandpa Sunderman gave me and Alex the whole lecture about how a soft answer turns away wrath. But a soft answer doesn’t mean no answer at all. That’s what drove Mom so crazy. She’d make a criticism and you’d act like you didn’t even hear her. No one likes being ignored, Daddy.”

Josh grimaced. It was startling to know his daughter had such a keen insight into his personality. “How about we take a look at the new project?” he said.

“Changing the subject, huh? Real mature, Dad.” Despite her sarcastic tone, she joined him at the bench. “So what’s the theme?” she asked.

“See if you can figure it out,” he replied. He already regretted drawing Sarah’s attention to this. If she talks to Rachel about it, there’ll be hell to pay, he thought grimly. Oh, screw it. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s nineteen and an adult. It’s time to treat her like one.

“I’m…not sure,” Sarah said. She glanced up at Josh. “I think I know, but…”

“But you’re surprised your old man is letting you see it?” he finished. “You know that a lot of what I do is for mature audiences, Pumpkin.”

He modded towards the first piece. Carved in the finest white marble was the lying figure of a sleeping baby boy. Curled on his side, one of his tiny hands was cupped over his groin. “Innocence,” he said.

He moved down a couple of steps. Leaning against the wall was an oil painting. In it, a young boy around eight years old was looking in a mirror. The lower half of his body was obscured, but it was obvious from the angle he was looking at his genitals. “Curiosity.”

The next piece was a carving. Golden wood revealed a teenage boy lying on a bed. Fully nude, he held his erect member in one hand, clearly masturbating. “Discovery.”

The fourth piece was a tableau in bronze. Done to one-half scale, the teenager from the previous piece was older. No longer a boy, but a young man. He was making love to a woman, his phallus half-in, half-out of her cleft, caught in mid-thrust. His face was contorted in a rictus of ecstasy. The woman was on her back, her head hanging off the edge of the bed, her hands cupping her breasts. Her engorged nipples stood out like tiny golden spikes, polished to a high gleam. “Knowledge.”

The last piece was again carved from marble, this time a delicate rose-pink. The man, much older now, lay between the thighs of the same woman, who had also aged. Her breasts were not quite as firm, her waist the tiniest bit thicker. His head was buried in her groin, and he was obviously performing oral sex on her. A cunningly crafted turn of his hips allowed them to see he was quite aroused. “Wisdom,” Joshua said. “Our subject learns that true happiness comes not from his own gratification or pleasure, but by pleasing his beloved.”

“They’re you, aren’t they?” Sarah asked, her voice low. “You and Mom.”

He nodded. “Yes, they are. The first two are based on pictures your grandparents took of me when I was a kid. The last three are from memory, more or less.”

Sarah’s hand raised, as if to touch the softly glowing stone, then fell back. “Are these for a show?” she asked. “Or are you going to sell them?”

“They’re for a show next month,” he confirmed. “And I might sell them, if the price is right. I would like to do it as a set, though. I’m still not happy about that second piece,” he groused. “I wanted it to be a full-length portrait, but my agent convinced me if I did it that way, I stood a good chance of being hauled up on a child pornography charge.

“I’d beat it, of course,” he said. “Artists still have some legal protections in this country. But I don’t need the bad publicity.”

“But Dad, you can’t sell them!” Sarah protested. “They’re wonderful. Especially the last two. You should put them in the house, not sell them to some rich old fart who would never appreciate them.

“The foyer!” she said excitedly. “Where we come into the house. You should display them there.” She slipped an arm around him, hugging him tight. “You could put up a plinth for the baby, hang the portrait, build a shelf for golden boy here,” she said, gesturing to the teenager, “and have a pair of display stands for the two where you and Mom are screwing. All at eye level, like a museum, so when someone comes in these are the first things they see. To show how much you care for her.”

Josh thought about it. Would Rachel be complimented? Or angry? He suspected the latter. “I’ll think about it,” he said noncommittally.

Suddenly Sarah giggled. He glanced at her, disturbed by the wicked gleam in her eyes. She had the same look when she told her grandmother she thought Nixon was a good president. I thought she was going to have a heart attack. Took us half an hour to convince Mom it was a joke. “But I gotta say, Dad, I think a little bit less of you. What happened to truth in art? Did you have to make yourself so…big?”

“I didn’t,” he replied evenly, enjoying her look as her mouth fell open. He nodded to the bronze tableau. “Everything there is as close to reality as I could make it. That includes myself and your mother.”

“Damn,” she breathed. She bent closer to the bronze, as if measuring, then back at Josh. “So you’re really that…well-endowed? Mom is one hell of a lucky woman.”

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Not that it is really any of your business, Sarah, but I’m not much bigger than average. Or so I’ve heard. If you think I’m huge, then it’s your boyfriend’s fault, not mine.”

“Don’t have a boyfriend right now,” she muttered. She put her back to the bench, facing him. Her hand was still on his arm, and their bodies were disturbingly close. “I think I want a man. A man who is more like you…Daddy.”

In an instant, the atmosphere changed, became charged with danger. Sarah’s eyes were bold and frank as they met his, her lips plump and kissable. She swayed closer to him, until he could almost sense her young, fertile heat, feel how her swelling, mature chest moved with her rapid breath…

“Ah, here you are, Senor Sunderman! And Sarah is with you! Good!” Maria’s voice was loud and cheerful as she entered the workshop. Her eyes were bright and sparkling. She looked at the two of them, then spoke to Josh. “Now, you must tell me what is safe to touch, and what I should leave alone when I clean.”

Josh moved quickly away from his daughter, grateful his loose t-shirt hid his swelling cock. Sarah, for her part, looked ready to commit violent and bloody acts on the unsuspecting maid.

“Sure,” he said, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. “Let me just show you around.”

When Sarah stalked out, a few minutes later, he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

xxxxx

“All right, Mr. Kincaid. Tell me why we’re here today.”

Mortimer Kincaid had a face made for punching, Rachel thought. A few year older than herself, he had sleek, dark good looks, expensive suits, and a six-figure income as a corporate defense attorney. But despite his attempt to look solemn, his expression always defaulted to a condescending smirk. “You won on Tuesday, Rachel,” he said. He was flanked by other members of his defense team and several executives from Antioch Chemical. “But that doesn’t mean a whole lot. You got a lucky draw in the jury pool and had a sympathetic judge. You know as well as I do that when we hit the appeals process, the damages could be cut in half. Or more. They were clearly far more punitive than the events-”

“Punitive?” growled one of Rachel’s clients, a grizzled truck driver named Whit Lombardo. “I’ll tell you what’s punitive. Punitive is me telling my grandkids they can’t fish in the river when they visit, because any fish they eat could poison them. And that they can’t swim in the water, because it might make their skin fall off.”

Kincaid blinked like a snake. His eyes were a disturbing grayish-green, flecked with gold. Rachel shivered, disturbed at the utter lack of humanity in his gaze. “Will you control your clients, Rachel? As I was saying, we think the best for all concerned would be for us to negotiate an equitable-”

“No. I’m doing the negotiating now, you little weasel.”

The words were harsh and flat and utterly indisputable. Rachel looked with surprise at the owner of Antioch Chemical. He looked to have aged thirty years since she saw him last. His face was lined with strain, face skin sagging and loose over the bones of his face, but his pale blue eyes were cold and clear. He folded his shaking hands and turned a frank look on Rachel.

“Ms. Wainwright, I want you to understand a few things. My great-grandfather founded my company. My grandfather ran it during the second World War, turning out munitions for the army. We have always been honest and law-abiding, giving good pay for good work, and providing a quality product for our customers.

“Some people, however, thought that should change. That they could sweep an uncomfortable truth under a rug. Could lie to the owner of their company.” The look that he sent down the table at his subordinates should have seared flesh from bones.

“We were wrong. We did wrong. And you held us accountable. Deservedly so. So I’m asking your opinion. What do you think the odds are of getting the decision reversed on appeal? Or even reduced?”

“You’re asking me?”

A glint of grim humor lit his old eyes. “You just kicked our ass in court. Might be you’re a better lawyer than the ones I have.”

“Mr. Hardin! I have to protest!” Kincaid said loudly. “You can’t ask opposing counsel for advice, especially some, some bitch who…who went to a public university!” Rachel was stunned at the venom in his voice. She and Kincaid had crossed swords more than once. Nothing in their previous acquaintance had prepared her for the sheer hatred she heard. Judging by the carefully blank expressions on the other side of the table, neither had his colleagues.

“Shut up and get out,” Hardin said flatly. “I went to Michigan State. It didn’t hurt me any.” As Kincaid picked up his laptop and stormed out the door he kept his eyes on Rachel. “Well?”

“You’ll lose on appeal,” Rachel said bluntly. “You might have had a chance ten years ago, but President Obama has put a lot of his judges on the appellate courts. They have a lot of funny thoughts. Like that polluters should be punished.”

“Obama,” his mouth twisted. “Well, I thought as much. Maybe if I’d the sense to listen sooner I’d be in better shape now.

“But we can’t pay the entire damages claim. Not at once. That’s a mathematical fact. The only way we could do it is if we sold off a bunch of our assets. And then we’d be putting a lot of good, hard-working people out of a job.

“I know,” he said, raising a hand to forestall her protest. “That’s our problem, not yours. But I’m telling you how it is.”

Rachel turned down the table to her forensic accountant. “Rosa?”

“He’s right, Rachel,” Rosa King said regretfully. “From what’s publicly available, he’s telling the truth. They don’t have enough cash assets to come close to paying.”

“Property rich, cash poor,” Hardin grumbled. “Just like a bunch of damn dirt farmers out in Nebraska. And that is why we aren’t going to hear any more nonsense about appeals. All I’d do is throw a bunch more money down a rathole for these vultures to get fat on.” He leaned forward, his eyes lit with the gleam of battle. “So, Ms. Wainwright.

“Let’s make a deal.”

xxxxx

Four hours later, Rachel walked into her boss’ office.

“So, Rachel,” Ben Chihiro said, looking at her over his wire-framed glasses. “Do we have a deal? Or do we start pulling files together for the appeal?”

Rachel tossed a manilla folder on his desk and slumped into a chair. “We got a deal.”

“So give me the thumbnail version.”

She rubbed her aching eyes. Her brain felt like it had been pounded flat by a brick. Hardin was a relentless negotiator, but she had fought him to a draw. “Antioch pays the material damages immediately and in full. Confirmation of deposit into an escrow account no later than thirty days from today.

“Same goes for the firm’s percentage for both the material and the punitive damages. Forty-three million and change by the end of June.

“As for the plaintiffs and the punitive damages…that old man is shrewd, Ben. And it allowed me to address one of the fears I had. You know what happens to people when they get a whole pile of money all at once. Lottery winners and the like.” Ben nodded agreement. “They lose control. Buy up houses and cars and get suckered into scams. Before you know it they’re broke again.

“We’re going to an annuity-based payoff. Antioch’s going to pay five million a year into that escrow account for the next twenty years. That will get paid out yearly to our claimants.”

“What about-”

“It’s solid, Ben,” Rachel said tiredly. “If a claimant dies, it goes to his or her heirs. If Antioch gets sold, this agreement goes with them. If they file for bankruptcy, we have first claim on assets. Lombardo and Wyatt gave it the OK from the client side. I’m sending it down to Derek Norquist in Contracts to look it over, but I think we’re in good shape.

“So now I want to talk about my future at the firm.”

xxxxx

“So how was work today, honey?” Joshua asked her, the question gently amused, as if they were some sitcom family from the eighties.

“Oh, not too bad,” Rachel replied, suppressing a grin. She spooned sauteed chicken onto her plate. “Finalized a settlement of over a hundred and fifty million dollars with Antioch Chemical, embarrassed a smug-ass prick of a lawyer, and quit my job.”

“That’s nice,” Josh said. Then he did a double-take and dropped his fork with a clatter. “Wait. What?”

The kids were staring at her with expressions of muted horror. “Relax. It’s not what it sounds like.” She took a sip of wine and smiled. “Oh, that’s good.

“The firm got one third of the settlement money. That’s forty-odd million dollars. My bonus for winning the case is a sizable chunk of that. Enough to keep us well-fed for quite some time.

“I love the law. I still love it. And I’m good at it. But it isn’t worth working sixty or seventy hours a week for the rest of my life. You know my family history, Josh. Dad died of a heart attack when he was only fifty-two. Mom had a stroke at fifty-five. We’re not a long-lived family on my side.”

She took a deep breath. “I might die young. I might not. Lord knows I take better care of myself than Dad did. But if I only have a few years left, I’m going to live them. Not spend it buried to my neck in depositions and motions.

“Ben Chihiro agreed to keep me on retainer in case he needs consulting work done. And I’m still a partner, which means I share in the profits the firm makes. It won’t be as much as I used to earn, but it’s still a decent salary. This way I can do pro bono work for people who need it. And that’s why I got involved in the law in the first place. Not to make money for a law firm. But to help people. To make sure corporations can’t get away with bloody murder where the environment is concerned.

“The house is paid for. Our only major expenses are smaller things. Gas, electricity, insurance for the cars, property taxes. Food.”

“Salary for our new maid,” Sarah muttered resentfully, stabbing her vegetables with her fork.

“Yes, that too,” Rachel said calmly.

“School expenses?” Alex asked. His face was troubled, torn between happiness for his mother and worry for their future.

“Already put aside.” Josh said. Rachel flashed him a quick smile. “Your mother and I created education accounts for the both of you when you were born. Wherever you decide to go to school, we can afford it.”

“So now I can enjoy myself,” Rachel sighed. “Sleep in. Put in a garden and watch it grow. Plant flowers. Read all the books and watch all the movies I never had time for.” She lifted smoldering eyes to Joshua. “Get reacquainted with my former husband.

“Which leads us to you two,” she said, looking in turn at each of her children. “Alex, Sarah, you’re good kids. We love you.”

“And we’re proud of you,” Josh continued, taking up the thread of conversation, as if they had not practiced it before dinner. Rachel’s heart warmed as he spoke, his face both kind and serious. Good God, why did I let this man get away from me?

~Damned if I know. But if I have my way, he’ll never be far from us again.~

“You’re each at the point where you have to decide what you want to do with your lives. There has been some disagreement on this,” he said, carefully not looking at her.

“Sarah,” Rachel continued, “Do you still want to be a chef?”

“Yes, Mom,” her daughter said. Her pretty face was alight with hope.

She nodded firmly. “All right, then. Bring us what you have about applying to culinary school by Monday. The three of us will look it over and get the process started.”

“Alex,” said her husband.

“Dad?”

“You want to be an actor?”

“More than anything, sir.” Rachel’s eyes pooled with wistful tears as she saw the naked joy on her son’s face.

“Done any research into acting schools around here? Or elsewhere?” he said, ignoring Rachel’s stricken look.

“Northwestern has a good theater program in the communications school, Dad. So does the University of Illinois-Chicago.”

“Communications,” Josh mused. “I think I still know a few folks up in Evanston. You know how us artsy folks hang together,” he said, winking at Rachel. She squeezed her thighs together, feeling heat bloom in her belly, and it was not caused by the wine she had drunk at dinner. “I’ll make some calls. They might be willing to take a flyer on a transfer student if he has good recommendations.

“So, that’s settled,” Josh said. He leaned back in his chair. “I just hope that we can get tickets to your movie premieres, Alex. And that Sarah can find us a table in her restaurant when we’re old and crippled.”

xxxxx

“Do you think they’ll make it work?” Rachel asked later, putting away a stack of plates. She nodded her thanks as Josh pulled utensils out of the dishwasher and sorted them into the cutlery tray with a clatter.

“I think our parents said the same thing about us when we were their age,” Josh replied.

Rachel smiled sadly. She and Josh had fallen in love from the time they first met at a party after a basketball game. When she had discovered she was pregnant with Alex, the thought of terminating the pregnancy had barely registered with either of them. Despite her parents’ furious protests, they had been married in the summer following Rachel’s freshman year. Alex had been born in November.

Her absolute insistence on having her child and marrying her boyfriend had put her relationship with her parents under enormous strain for years. She had been the first member of her family to go to college, the great hope for the next generation. They had thought she was throwing her life away in exchange for a marriage which was doomed to fail. Her father especially had seen Josh as nothing more than a dilettante, the pampered son of hippie throwbacks who had no idea what “real work” was like. For the first time she wondered if her furious reactions to some of Joshua’s more incendiary projects were born out of guilt due to her parents’ early deaths. Was she trying to somehow prove them right by hamstringing her own marriage?

“I think they’ll do fine,” she said at last. “Sarah, at least. She is such a good cook, Josh. And she picks things up so quickly. You only have to show her anything once.

“Alex, I’m a little more worried about. I wouldn’t know a good actor from a hole in the ground. But he’s miserable where he is. Might as well see if we can help him get into NU and let him stretch his wings a little.”

“I agree.” He put away the last of the clean dishes and turned to her. She felt her body heat as he looked at her, his eyes full of promise.

“It’s only eight o’clock,” he said.

“Too true,” she sighed. “Do you think the kids would be scandalized if we went to bed this early?”

“Maybe,” he said. “How about we go out to the workshop? I haven’t shown you what I’ve been working on.”

xxxxx

“So what’s the big mystery?” she asked as they entered the small building. Josh turned on the lights and closed the door behind them. She took a deep breath of the scents that no amount of airing could completely remove; wood shaving and paints, stone dust and leather, turpentine and sweat. Then, embarrassingly, she gave vent to a huge yawn.

“Sleepy?” Josh asked.

“Just haven’t been sleeping well lately,” she replied. “You know, the trial. And the kids. And looking forward to you coming back,” she said, letting her voice deepen.

In fact, she had been sleeping horribly. Ever since her conversation with Maria on Monday, she had been almost completely unable to sleep, tossing and turning until the early hours of the morning. When she finally dozed off, her dreams had been confused and amazingly vivid, with repeated appearances by a beautiful, blond-haired woman who seemed to be urgently trying to tell her…something. Interspersed with her had been incredibly explicit dreams about her husband which had woken her to a hot, squirming horniness no amount of masturbation could entirely alleviate.

The man in question regained her attention. “Over here,” he said, gesturing to the workbench.

She took a long, long look. “Oh,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Josh, it’s…it’s…”

~Magnificent. He will be my Michelangelo.~

“Wonderful. The growth from tiny baby to skillful lover.” She caressed the bronze of the fourth piece, her fingers lingering on the cold metal of his arched back. She paused and leaned forward, her eyes caught by a faint, almost subliminal pattern. She squinted, wishing she had worn her reading glasses, then rocked back, letting loose with an outraged laugh.

“Fluffy bunnies? You put fluffy bunnies on the bedspread?””

“Hey,” Josh protested. “I spent a lot of time on top of that bedspread.”

“You mean you spent a lot of time on top of me.”

“Under you, too,”

“Well, what were you paying more attention to? Me, or the bunnies?”

“You, my black-haired Venus,” he whispered. “Always, forever, you.”

Sniffing slightly, she turned back to the two figures. God, were we ever that young? Their entwined bodies reminded her uncomfortably of their own children. She blinked, wondering, then bent closer. No. The telltale ring was not visible at the base of Josh’s bronze rod. And for someone as detail-oriented as he was, that would not be a mistake, but rather, a clear message to her.

“This is a specific night, isn’t it?” she asked. “The night we made Alex.”

They had been so happy and horny that evening. They had gone out to campustown, neither of them even old enough to drink. That hadn’t stopped them, though. In a dive bar on Green Street named O’Malley’s, they had gotten tipsy, danced till their legs hurt, sang “American Pie” at midnight, and walked back to Josh’s apartment on Locust. There, they had begun to make love, only to find out they were out of condoms.

“To hell with it,” Rachel had said, lying on her back. Her hands cradled her breasts, offering them to him. “Come on, Josh. I need you inside me. Please, baby, fuck me!”

“Yes, Venus,” he whispered, hugging her close. “It is.”

Suddenly she found herself crying, unstrung by his love and his old nickname for her and by the beautiful message in his art. By the emotion and the stress of the past week. “I’m sorry,” she said into his shirt, racked by wrenching sobs. “Sorry I was such a bitch. Sorry I didn’t understand. Sorry I was always at the office. Sorry I didn’t listen.”

“I’m sorry, too.” His voice was as full of regret as hers. “Sorry I didn’t argue. Sorry I felt my art was more important than our marriage. Sorry I left you to deal with the kids.”

~Now.~

She wiped her eyes and turned her face up to him. “I need you, Josh,” she said softly. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a man in my bed. Too long since I’ve had a man inside me.” She smiled, a phrase from their first months together coming unbidden to her lips. “Let’s have some fun.”

Her hand dropped to his groin. To her faint disappointment, he was limp inside his pants. But that’s all right, she thought with an inward smile. It just makes it more enjoyable. A hunger was growing inside of her, a primal need, and she pushed him back towards the bench.

“Up,” she ordered.

“Wait,” he said. With as much care as if he were transporting a real child, he moved the bust of the sleeping infant several feet away. He then hopped up on the worktable, and bracing his arms, allowed her to pull off his shoes, socks, boxers and jeans, until he was naked from the waist down. She smiled as she drew close and reacquainted herself with his body. His legs were lightly dusted with sandy blond hair, a match for that on his head. They were strong and well-muscled, and his fat, flaccid cock lay against his thigh. She placed her hands on his legs, stroking softly, pushing his knees apart.

Driven by a hunger she could not name, she stooped and took his dick in her mouth, almost inhaling his length until her nose was pressed against the wiry thatch of his pubic hair.

Once she had it, she held herself still. Yes, she thought. Let his desire for me grow naturally. We have all night. No need to make him come quickly. She held his length in her mouth, laving it with her tongue. She felt a spurt of triumph as she felt him start to swell. Running her hands from his thighs to his flanks to his cloth-covered back, she breathed in the scent of his musk, her hot breath causing the muscles of his belly to jump and tremble.

Slowly he grew in her mouth, soft flesh transforming into steely-hard arousal. In a few moments, his cock was pointing skyward, and she hung, poised over him. The soft tip nudged the back of her throat. She raised her head, marveling anew as the spit-slickened length of him emerged from her mouth, then lowered it again, enjoying the soft hiss of his breath as she pleasured him. His hands caressed her hair, sifting it through his fingers, then moved on to her back, trailing over the gooseflesh raised by her desire.

Up and down she bobbed. The motion would have seemed boring and repetitive, had it not been for the wonderful feel of Josh’s cock in her mouth. She played it like an instrument, her tongue swirling around the throbbing shaft, then toying with the sensitive glans. She teased the tiny, weeping slit, then lunged forward, deep-throating him, her teeth scraping his turgid thickness as he flinched in surprise.

All the while, a desperate thirst was growing inside her. It was as if she had been wandering in the desert for years, lost in a wilderness of her own making. All of her sexual encounters; the two quickly-regretted one-night stands, the lonely nights of masturbation, even her session with Jeremy the week before; all of these were as dry and useless as a handful of sand. Only Joshua held any meaning. Only he could ease her torment. The answer was inside him, readying itself in his balls, only needing her touch to come boiling out of him in a mighty torrent of life-giving seed. Her pace quickened, one hand joining her mouth, pumping his cock. The other moved between his legs from below, cupping his sac. She squeezed slightly, then relaxed her hand when she heard his warning hiss. She fought back the urge to force his pleasure, to push his come out of his cock by brute strength.

“Baby,” Josh said. Never stopping, she looked up at him the the screen of her hair, strands stuck to her cheeks. “I’m not going to last much longer. Do you want to lie down? Or get up here?”

She pulled away from him long enough to answer. “Neither,” she said. “I want you to come in my mouth, honey. I’m going to swallow all your delicious come. And after that, we can go inside and make love.”

She lowered her head to his shaft again, her tongue spiraling around him. God, she could feel it! Sense it like an extension of her own body. A pool of life, only needing her touch to bring it springing forth. Her efforts redoubled, her lips and tongue and mouth and hands working together. And Joshua moved with her, the muscles of his buttocks clenching rhythmically as he pushed up towards her. She could sense the willpower it took for him to keep from taking control, from throwing them both down on the floor and taking her, mindless of her wishes or comfort.

“Almost there,” he whispered. Rachel stifled an indecent giggle. It always amused her how quiet Josh got right before he achieved orgasm. The result of living with a pair of ex-hippies who didn’t think much of ideas like “privacy.” And would be caught dead before they let me put a lock on my bedroom door, his voice reminded her.

She gripped her lover around the waist with both arms, her head bobbing furiously on his phallus. Her lips and tongue felt the tiny changes which signaled his explosion. The muscles at the base of his cock began to tense and loosen, over and over. At the same time his organ seemed to thicken, expanding slightly in her mouth. He went utterly still in her grip, as if he was willing his orgasm to burst forth.

“Coming now, baby, coming…now!” he gasped, and suddenly her mouth was flooded with his come. His cock pulsed, delivering load after life-bearing load of his seed. She swallowed greedily, desperate for more more more! Until the torrent became a trickle. Then finally stopped.

She swallowed one final time, feeling his thick, salty warmth vanish into her stomach. She licked her lips, cleaning the last pearly remnants of his orgasm from her face. She felt stronger, happier, somehow revitalized. She grinned up at Josh.

“So, do I still have it? Does the old lady still know how to suck a dick?”

“Old lady, my ass,” he said agreeably. “Forty-one ain’t nothing. You’ve got a lot of good years ahead of you, Venus.

“And yes,” he said, stooping to kiss her on the mouth. “You’ve still got it.”

Rachel shivered happily. It had always pleased her how nonchalant Josh was about kissing her after she gave him head. Other men, she knew from talks with her girlfriends, avoided it like the plague.

“Won’t even kiss me unless I’ve wiped my mouth off,” Deirdre O’Neill said. “It’s like he thinks it’s catching, and if he kisses me after I’ve been on his crotch, he’ll want to suck cock as well.”

“Well,” she said. “We’ve wasted enough time in here. How about we sneak inside? If we’re lucky, the kids won’t hear us go upstairs, and we can screw until we pass out.”

“Counselor, that sounds like an awesome plan.”

They locked the door of the workshop and made their way across the rain-wet grass of the yard towards the back door. They were walking slowly, side-by-side, occasionally stopping to trade kisses. Josh had his hand on her breast, and she didn’t try to stop him.

Neither one looked up to the house. If they had, they might have seen the tear-streaked face of Sarah, watching them.

xxxxx

Sarah lay on her bed, tense and miserable. Despite the good news at dinner that she would be able to achieve her long-wished-for goal of going to culinary school, she was desperately unhappy.

Her mind kept turning over the events of that afternoon. When she and her father had been talking in his workshop. She had been admiring his art and teasing him about his size when suddenly, everything changed. He was no longer her father. At least, he wasn’t just her father. For the first time, she saw him as a man. A sexually desirable man who she wanted, very badly.

And he wanted me, she thought, turning over so she was lying on her stomach. Almost involuntarily, she pushed her groin into the mattress, enjoying the pressure on her pubis. I could tell. His eyes got big. And I think his cock did, too.

And then Maria had to come in and ruin everything. Her lips tightened as she remembered how the moment had been shattered, her father jumping guiltily away from her.

Probably for the best, I guess, she thought, getting up. She walked aimlessly around the room, trying to work off a little of her nervous energy. For the past several days she had felt high-strung and jittery, as if she had been drinking coffee non-stop. Good thing I didn’t actually try to kiss Daddy. Maria probably would have told Mom, and then there’s no way the two of them would get back together. Mom would hit the roof. Even to herself the words sounded unconvincing.

But oh, the thought of being with her father haunted her. She imagined the feel of his hands on her, strong but gentle. How his mouth would taste. How his body would look when she peeled his clothes away. How his cock would feel, hot and hard, plunging into her wet horny channel…

With a start, she realized she had unbuttoned her shorts, and her fingers had dipped below the waistline of her panties, playing with her lips. They felt hot and swollen under her questing fingers, and she shivered as one finger danced across her clit. She stared vacantly out the window as she pleasured herself. This is wrong, she thought. Daddy isn’t mine. He’s Mom’s. I should be happy he’s back and they’re trying to get back together.

But I want him, she wailed in the silent recesses of her mind. She glared at the workshop, the lights in the windows glowing in the distance. I’m tired of boys who don’t know what they’re doing, fumbling around in my pants like it’s a treasure map and they lost the instructions. I bet Daddy wouldn’t need any help finding my button.

She tore off her shirt and unclasped her bra, letting them fall to the floor. Her panties soon followed. She caressed her breasts dreamily, imagining her hands were her father’s. She pinched one pink, pebbled nipple, biting down on her lip to keep from moaning aloud.

God, I’m so horny. I should call someone. Dave. Or Micah. Anyone who can scratch my itch.

But instead she stayed at the window, her hands roaming over her body, waiting for something she couldn’t even name. The prospect of putting on her clothes and driving to someone’s house palled in comparison to the lovely feelings coursing through her. Every nerve end seemed to be hypersensitized, every part of her body ready for love. She parted her nether lips with one damp finger and slowly pushed it inside her, smiling slowly as her flesh eased open to accommodate this welcome invader.

In the distance the door to her father’s workshop opened. Two figures exited, walking close together. It only took her seconds to recognize her parents. They walked slowly towards the house, their bodies brushing. In the evening darkness, she could not make out the expressions on their faces, but as they came closer, Sarah saw her mother’s arm was curled possessively around her father’s waist. Then her eyes widened with hurt. Her father had his hand on her mother’s breast, palming her tit lovingly. They stopped just before they reached the back porch and kissed, their bodies fitting together as if they had been meant for each other in the light from the back windows.

It took Sarah a few moments to realize she was crying. Tears, hot with shame and grief, dripped onto her breasts, making salty trails on her skin. The proof of her parent’s love made her desires feel petty and small. How could I think of coming between them? They are so beautiful together.

After an endless moment, they disappeared from her view. Instinctively, she knew they were going to come upstairs and make love. The very thought of being nearby, almost close enough to hear them, was unbearable. Working quickly, her hands shaking, she pulled on her shorts and her shirt. She left the bra and her damp panties on the carpet, and hurried down the front staircase, hoping to avoid them altogether.

She was rounding the curve of the staircase, almost down to the ground floor, when she ran into her brother. He was obviously on his way up to his bedroom, and he rocked back when her headlong flight brought her crashing into his chest.

“Slow down, Sis,” he said, clutching the bannister to keep them from tumbling down the remaining stairs. He peered at her face in the dim light of the stairwell. “Hey, are you all right?”

“Leave me alone,” she snapped. She tore away from his protective grasp and clattered down to the basement, ignoring Alex’s confused reply. Once there, she slammed the door closed and slapped the deadbolt home, locking herself in.

I’ll watch some porn, she decided. It’s Friday night, there’s got to be some good soft-core stuff on Skinemax. And if I can’t find anything, I’ll order it off of pay-per-view.

xxxxx

Rachel drew Josh inside the house, smiling. From the front staircase came the sound of the kids quarreling. Sarah said something snappishly, muffled by distance. They could hear Alex’s peevish retort, then the sound of the basement door slamming closed.

“What was that about?” Rachel wondered.

“Do you want me to go find out?” he asked reluctantly.

She smiled up at him. “No,” she said simply. “They’re adults now, no matter how much they try to hide it sometimes. They insisted we treat them that way earlier tonight. Let them deal with it.”

She drew him up the back stairs, his hand warm in hers. By the time they reached the upstairs hall, she was almost pulling him along, so eager was she to get him into her bedroom. She closed the door behind them and leaned against it, sighing with relief. This was the one place in the house which was completely hers. Or hers and Josh’s, rather. That had been made clear to the kids from the day they moved in. This was the one room where they were absolutely forbidden to go. They would no more think about crossing that threshold uninvited than they would rob a bank.

“Finally,” she said. She hugged her husband tightly around the chest, feeling the solid beat of his heart under her cheek. She patted his groin playfully. “Is my friend ready to come out and play?”

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Damn straight. He wants to know if you look as good as he remembers.” His hands closed carefully around her face and tipped it up to his. His dark blue eyes were like the sea after a storm as his lips brushed hers once, twice, then opened in a fiery kiss.

Rachel did not play hard to get. After so many years together, and so many months apart, there was no need. She returned his loving embrace with all the pent-up passion in her soul. Her hands laced around his neck, forbidding him to try to escape. It seemed her efforts were all for naught, however, as Josh made no effort to get away. His hands were everywhere. On her back, on her ass, gliding up her sides. Then, finally, settling on the flushed mounds of her breasts, stifling within their lace prison. Her tongue darted into his mouth, fighting with his, until it seemed they were not two individuals, but one loving whole.

She broke away, gasping, and unbuttoned her blouse. At the same time Josh reached over his head to grip the back of his t-shirt and pull it off with one swift motion. Her eyes drank in the sculpted muscles of his abs, and she smiled possessively. She had forgotten how beautiful her husband was, for so she now thought of him, regardless of petty details such as divorce rulings. Not in the traditional sense, of course. Josh had none of the arrogant, chilly beauty of an underwear model or a Hollywood screen icon. What he was, simply, was male. From his beak of a nose to his strong arms and hands, layered with muscle, to his flat stomach and his magnificent, lovely cock, there was nothing about him which did not exude masculine virility.

She cuddled close and ran her hands up his chest, smiling as he closed his eyes, his skin warm under her hands. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “Let’s not do this ever again, okay?”

“That works for me,” he replied. His hands strayed to her bra, then snuck around her back and undid the clasp with casual skill, allowing her breasts to finally breathe the sweet air of freedom. His eyes widened. “Damn, girl,” he said. “Did you have some work done and not tell me?”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Well,” he said, his voice suddenly tentative, as if he was worried about offending her, “the twins here look a lot better than I remember. Not bigger. But more…younger, I guess. They look like they did when we first met,” he said, cupping one of her breasts with the air of a scientist testing a hypothesis.

She sighed happily as his thumb stroked a fat nipple, then looked down to where his hands were performing their pleasant ministrations. “I don’t know,” she said. “I certainly haven’t had a nip or tuck or anything like that. I try to take good care of myself. They don’t look much different to me.”

“Hmmm,” he said absently, then bent to take a nipple into his mouth. She muffled a groan. God, how long had it been since someone who knew what he was doing had kissed her there? She felt her silken sheath flood with moisture. She undid his jeans for the second time that evening, reflecting that it would be much more convenient if Josh wore sweatpants.

~Or no clothes at all when he is at home.~

“I want it off. I want it all off,” she whispered. The jeans finally loose, she bent to her knees, pulling off his shoes and socks as he awkwardly shifted his weight from one leg to another. In moments he was nude. She stood up again, taking him in. His face was older, perhaps, than that night they met after Illinois had beaten the ever-loving hell out of Iowa, his hair lightly dusted with gray, small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes cheerfully crinkling as he gazed at her.

But he was still her Joshua. Still hers, for all her faults and mistakes.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Her fingers trembling, she unzipped her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles. Stepping out of it, she pushed down the silk panties she had worn in anticipation of this night together. She faced Josh, suddenly nervous, unsure of herself.

~Nonsense~, a voice whispered in her mind. It had grown disturbingly familiar over the past several days. ~You are a woman, and therefore powerful. See how much your man desires you, and celebrate. He will not stray, unless it be at your bidding and the desire of you both.~

If she had any doubts, they were allayed by Josh’s face. His face was rapt as he looked at her, a look she remembered from days long gone by. He swallowed, then bent towards her, kissing the upper slope of her breast, even as one hand cupped it from beneath. “I’d forgotten how beautiful you were, Venus,” he murmured.

She smiled and arched against him, their skin rubbing together, her breasts and thighs singing a song of arousal where they touched. “I think that we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” she smiled. “Lord knows I’m not going to last long once you’re inside me. You on top? Or me?”

“You,” he said, and lay on the bed, his phallus jutting high and hard into the air. She smiled fondly. There were times when Josh wanted to be in control, eager to assert his dominance. Holding her wrists pinioned over her head and driving into her over and over. But quite often he was content to simply lay on the bed and bask in her affection, kissing her breasts and lips and neck as she filled herself with his lovely rod. Or he would lay between her thighs, licking her, and bring her to climax after climax, taking pleasure in her happiness as she came to orgasm.

She straddled him, her pale thighs sleek under his loving hands. She let her groin fall, until her nether-lips caressed his steely length. Josh groaned beneath her as her fluids slicked his thick hot hardness, running up and down, teasing him with the ecstasy to be found within her portals, until she took it away again. She dropped her head to him, kissing him, hard and fierce, as he filled his hands with her breasts, thumbing her nipples until she thought she would scream with sheer pleasure. She let his tip slip inside her, torturing herself, holding herself a mere moment away from fullness, then pulled away, enjoying his heartrent moan of frustration.

“What’s the matter, baby?” she whispered. “Is some mean lady keeping you from what you want?”

“I can last as long as you can,” her husband said, his eyes gleaming wickedly. His head lifted and his mouth fastened around one throbbing nipple. Quick as thought, his tongue lashed the protruding bud, and Rachel sank down down down, forcing more of her sensitive flesh into the hot wet cavern of his mouth, keening happily, her breath coming in rapid rasps, a thin mewl of pleasure escaping with every exhalation. His hands squeezed her breasts rhythmically, stroking her until she thought she would pass out from sheer pleasure, then left to explore the curves of her rear, cupping her taut cheeks, adjusting her pace on his groin in such a way to maximize both their pleasure.

His head fell back limply onto the pillows, his eyes closed. His breath slowed, and she kissed him again, running her tongue cunningly over the sensitive skin of his lips until he threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her close as their mouths opened wide, seeking to meld into each other. All the while, her hips rose and fell, her spread labia forming a wet channel for his cock. His groin rose, pushing against her, and she moaned as his hard length stroked her tender nubbin over and over; not trying to enter her, oh no, simply content to drive her mad with pleasure.

~Now, my handmaiden. Take him now.~

“Josh,” she whispered. He met her eyes, hearing the fragile, tentative tone in her voice. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“As long as you want me, Venus,” he replied, his voice so full of love it nearly broke her heart.

She braced her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down into the mattress. At the same time, she opened herself to him, both her mouth and and her tender vessel, aching to be filled. She groaned into his mouth, the sound low and guttural, as she felt him breach her dewy gates. For the first time in far too long, her tunnel was filled with the girth of her husband’s cock, pushing her chaste walls apart, making her whole.

“Oh, fuck yes,” she said, her voice low and throbbing. She paused for a moment, savoring the exquisite feeling as her nether-lips mashed into the hot flesh of Josh’s groin, the way he filled her, his balls brushing the lower opening of her recess. Below her, Josh gasped as her sheath tightened convulsively around his tool, the muscles of her vagina milking him, involuntarily urging him to bless her with his seed.

“No,” he grated, eyes wide. “Not yet.”

She huffed impatiently. “What is it about men that makes them think they have to be superhuman?” she asked. “I’m not going to slit your throat if you blow early, Josh.”

“It’s not that,” he said softly. “And you should know it by now. I want you to be happy. Don’t you get it after all these years? I love you. And that means how happy I am depends on how happy you are. So I don’t want to come until you do. I want to see your face. Want to watch as you reach for joy. Want to feel you shake in my arms.

“I. Love. You.”

His words, laden with the truth of his affection, drove her over the edge. Unwilling, unable to wait any longer, she moved up and down on the beautiful length of his cock, the feeling as he repeatedly filled her driving her mad. She had never felt so ready. Never felt so loved. She was so wet for him she felt almost guilty, thinking of those nights when he had expended so much effort to make her ready for sex. As she moved, the sensitive nub of her clit burned as it scraped along the ridge of his phallus, teasing her towards ever-greater heights of pleasure and joy. His hands came around her, cupping her rear, guiding her, adjusting her pace to the one that most benefited them both. His own loins rose and fell, driving into her, proof of his desire.

Her sheath gripped him, her muscles clenching. She lay on top of him, her hot breasts grinding into his chest, her mouth suckling the angle where his shoulder met his neck, even as he kissed her ears and cheeks. His hands came around, gripping the tops of her thighs.

She sensed the moment when he broke; when his pleasure snapped the bonds of restraint. His hands clutched at her thighs, hard enough to bruise, and she whimpered as his groin punched up at her, filling her over and over again, striving for his own release. She lifted her head from his shoulder, meeting his eyes, her own warm with love.

“Yes, Josh,” she said. “Fill me. Fill me up with your come.” She laid a hand on one tense cheek and kissed the corner of his mouth, commanding his obedience. “Now.”

With a hoarse shout, his hips stuttered upwards, lifting her high. She felt his cock throb within her, then the welcome burst as his seed filled her channel. At the same moment, her orgasm, long-delayed, overcame her, and she fell across her husband’s chest, shaking as she finally reached the climax she had been craving for days. Power seemed to flow from her husband’s groin into her, pulsing in time with his spasming shaft. It hit her like a thunderbolt at the base of her spine, and she went limp in Josh’s arms, falling into unconsciousness as swiftly as one might blow out a candle.

xxxxx

She opened her eyes to find herself in a landscape which was utterly unfamiliar. A sky, deeper and bluer than any she had ever known, hovered above her like a turquoise bowl. Grass, thick and green beneath her feet, stretched like a carpet to an unseen horizon. A small river, chattering in its stony bed, flowed away to her left. It was flecked with foam, unlike the slow, placid rivers of Illinois. Amidst the grass, small flowers bloomed like multi-colored stars.

“Well, finally,” said a voice behind her.

She turned around, and her eyes widened with awe.

She wasn’t a mere woman. Instead, she was the ultimate woman. The one that all other women aspired to be. Everything about her was simply, overwhelmingly, female. Her hips were full, her waist narrow, her breasts large and firm, her rear finely curved, her hair long and golden.

And God, her face was beautiful. A terrifying beauty, enough to make a woman forget all vows, all love, all duty, and fall to her feet for one kind word from her red, pouting lips.

She smiled, and Rachel could barely keep herself from throwing herself to her knees and kissing the arches of her feet. Her voice throbbed with power, commanding her obedience.

“So I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a muddle of things.” Her voice was faintly apologetic, and Rachel’s eyes narrowed, recognizing her. She had been in her dreams. And, at least once, she had seen her, a ghostly reflection in a mirror as she made love to her intern in her corner office in the Sears Tower. “My name is Althea. I am the firstborn daughter of Lilith, who you may recognize as Adam’s first wife. I am one of the succubi, and I have been sharing your body with you for the past several days.”

“What?”

THE END OF CHAPTER TWO